


In The Arms Of My Love (I may never come down to earth again.)

by ftwnhgn



Series: a lovely waltz. [2]
Category: Jersey Boys (2014), Jersey Boys - Gaudio/Crewe/Brickman/Elice
Genre: Bob is grumpy, Domestic Fluff, Frankie is responsible, M/M, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, No Plot/Plotless, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftwnhgn/pseuds/ftwnhgn
Summary: The morning after.Bob is not an early riser and Frankie has to save the world (Jersey). But he makes it up to him.





	In The Arms Of My Love (I may never come down to earth again.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is, like, a sequel to Too Good To Be True. I wanted to have them slow dance and somebody wanted more of them, so here we go. "Ten Minutes Ago" from Cinderella is a great song and I wholeheartedly own this to Santino Fontana and Laura Osnes serenading me while I assed myself to half-watch the ESC, because I mainly wrote this.
> 
> This is literally no plot, just them being domestic and happy.
> 
> unbeta'd as ever! but what else is new.
> 
> Title: Ten Minutes Ago - Cinderella

 

 

 

_I wanted to ring out the bells and fling out my arms and to sing out the news:  
_ _I have found him, he's the light of the stars in my eyes._

_\- Richard Rodgers_

 

***

 

The first time that Bob wakes up, it’s still dark outside. His brain feels fuzzy from all the alcohol he drank last night – Frankie was kind enough to drive them all home, having lost their usual scissors stone paper game against all of them, even Bob – and he’s still way too tired and hungover to even think about functioning at all. Plus, he never was a morning person in general, especially not on weekends.

Frankie’s half-naked form is plastered to his back, the older man somehow attaching himself and his arms around Bob after they fell asleep. His cheek is pressed against Bob’s own naked shoulder blade and while it’s really cute that Frankie is such a cuddler, it’s also _insanely_ hot in the room, God only knows why, and Bob’s skin is covered in sweat and he’s just all-around _uncomfortable_.

Bob’s urge to keep his eyes closed is defeated by his sole wish to be comfortable and asleep again, so he opens them, blinking about twenty times into the gray darkness until he doesn’t feel like his retinas will burn off if he keeps his eyelids open for more than three seconds. After he managed that, he extracts himself carefully from Frankie – his boyfriend is the heaviest sleeper he knows, but Bob doesn’t want to test his luck, not after the long night they had – to get out of the bed.

He stretches once his feet hit the floor and quietly walks over to open the window in their bedroom. While the fresh morning air is hitting his warm skin, Bob can hear Frankie move in their bed, the sheets rustling for a few seconds, before the room is silent again. Frankie’s breath is still even and he’s slightly snoring, so Bob is not concerned that he woke him with his action.

Nevertheless, Bob turns around and goes back to bed, carefully moving onto the mattress and under the covers again. He takes Frankie back into his arms, who somehow immediately reacts with resting his own somewhere around Bob’s shoulders and puts his forehead against Bob’s chest. Once they’re settled back in the closest position they can muster with one of them moving on muscle memory while being mostly unconscious, Bob falls asleep even before he can hear the first birds outside.

 

* 

 

The next time Bob wakes up, Frankie’s arms are still around him, now in a lower place around his ribcage, but the phone outside in the hall is ringing loudly. _Too_ loud. Bob decides then and there that he’s not getting up again and hides his face deeper in his pillow, screwing his eyes as shut as possible.

“Bob,” Frankie grumbles, but Bob just shakes his head. He doesn’t care if Frankie can see it or not, Bob is not taking any call before noon. That’s a house rule for everyone’s well-being and sake and Frankie knows that as well.

Bob can feel Frankie moving away from him and getting up, the covers getting stretched and moved around before his bare feet hit the floor and move around their bed and through the door into the hall. He hears Frankie taking the call, his voice quiet, but not quiet enough for Bob to not hear him and fall back asleep again easily.

Frankie sounds indifferent the first few times he answers, but he gets more impatient and if Bob wouldn’t feel worse than death he would get up and see what’s going on, but he really can’t be arsed right now. He’s also fairly sure that Frankie could do without his bitchy comments, if his thick accent and annoyed voice is anything to go by. Shortly after his voice gets a bit louder than approving for friendly conversation he hangs up, the metal of the phone a harsh noise in the regained silence of the morning, and comes back into the bedroom.

“What is it?” Bob mumbles, eyes still closed but knowing he’d be a bad boyfriend if he didn’t ask Frankie at least, although the older man will probably not give him the whole rundown of the conversation he just had.

“Nothing too important,” Frankie says because he says this every time they get a phone call concerning Frankie and not Bob. So, Crewe didn’t call. At least there’s that. “I just have to head out now, but I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

Bob hums, but it’s more of a protest than an appreciation of Frankie acting martyr for whoever needs him in his old neighbourhood. He can hear Frankie opening their wardrobe and putting on some clothes and blindly waves at him, signaling he has something to say.

“What is it?” Frankie asks, by the sound of it still busy with putting on more clothes.

“They’re not worth it,” Bob mumbles into his pillow.

“Excuse me, what? You have to get that pillow out of your face, if you want me to hear you, baby,” Frankie says, an amused tone in his voice.

Bob moves onto his back, but still furiously refusing to open his eyes. That’s not going to happen before Nine. Not on a Saturday anyway. “They’re not worth it,” he repeats.

“ _Bob_ ,” Frankie warns, knowing where this is going because they had this conversation often enough, not only on mornings.

“As long as Tommy isn’t bleeding to death on a New York City street and Nick isn’t there to drive him to the ER or Francine doesn’t have some kind of deathly plague, it’s not worth it. Not this early,” Bob explains, and they both know he’s right. They also both know Frankie is going anyway. Because he has a fixer complex the size of the whole of Jersey.

Older men. It’s a blessing _and_ a curse.

“I’m going,” Frankie says and his voice is much closer now than before. Shortly after that, Bob can feel his lips brushing over his temple and his forehead – an apology, a peace-offering. “But I’ll make it up to you, promise. Go back to sleep.”

Another kiss, dropped on the top of his head and Frankie is on his way out.

“You bet I will,” Bob grumbles before rolling around onto his side of the bed again and goes back to sleep, ignoring the blazing engine of their car he can hear through the open window.

 

*

 

Bob gets up shortly before ten. On his way down the stairs he can see Frankie’s jacket and shoes neatly in their usual place and he can hear movements from the kitchen, so at least his boyfriend is done with saving the great-great aunt of some classmate he once gave a pencil in his second year of school. Or whatever he had to do.

When Bob gets in the kitchen, the dinner table is set with what Bob knows is Frankie’s _apology breakfast_ for leaving so early after a night out and when Bob’s gaze trails from the table to Frankie, who stands between their stove and said table, coffee mug in hand and smiling ruefully but so sincerely sweet, Bob can’t even be that sour about him leaving.

“I’m sorry?” Frankie tries anyway, his voice rising on the last syllable and one corner of his mouth rising as well, the kicked puppy look coming out in full force again. _Dear God._

“You better are,” Bob replies, but it lacks any venom or bite.

“You know M-“

“I probably don’t know him, but I’m glad you saved him from a life in jail and without his wife and kids,” Bob interrupts him before Frankie can even _start_ his story and moves over to him, reaching out and putting his hands on Frankie’s waist and drawing him in. Bob smiles at him, despite his tiredness and the headache hammering against his forehead, to show him that he really isn’t mad at him anymore.

Frankie sets his mug down on the table and then runs his fingers up Bob’s bare arms and over the soft fabric of his maroon shirt until he settles them around Bob’s neck. Before Bob can even mention it, Frankie starts to hum one of the songs he used to sing before Bob was in the band and just like that, they’re swaying in the small space of the kitchen.

Frankie’s humming surprisingly doesn’t turn into singing, but Bob enjoys this moment nonetheless. He moves one hand onto the small of Frankie’s back and presses him closer so they’re chest to chest, their legs tangling a bit together in the process. They don’t break their stride, though, and Frankie rests his temple against Bob’s shoulder.

“Yesterday night was good,” Bob murmurs absentmindedly as they’re turning slowly.

Frankie looks up shortly and interrupts his humming, “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bob agrees, grinning. “I liked your mouth, hotshot.”

Despite what people might assume about them – if they assume at all, Bob has it rather if they don’t – their roles are reserved in bed. It’s Frankie, who can’t seem to shut up for one second and between bitching and moaning he always throws the craziest things at Bob’s head, while Bob himself is a bit quieter than usual. Though Bob doesn’t mind, no, he likes it that way, _very much_. Not that he would ever admit that in front of anyone while he still has air to breathe on this earth.

The answer is a laugh from Frankie that vibrates against Bob’s shoulder and the older one’s fingers gripping the collar of his shirt.

“Sure you did,” Frankie replies, a rare case of self-satisfaction audible in his voice.

Like clockwork, they move away from each other, just for Bob to grab Frankie’s hands and reel him back in, so that his back is against Bob’s chest. They’re not dancing to any song anymore, but they’re dancing _anyway_ and, yeah, that’s always the best part with Frankie, Bob thinks. Not even the sex or how Frankie comes out of his shell in bed or how they wake up in each other’s arms the morning after, soft and warm and comfortable.

No. Dancing like they’re in the middle of the dancefloor while they’re actually next to Italian bread and black coffee and Bob is so hungover he’s not ashamed of it and Frankie is careless and laughing and they’re teasing each other. That’s perfect.

Their hips move in unison for a few beats before Bob spins Frankie around until they’re pressed chest to chest again and he can lean down to place a kiss on Frankie’s jaw, right above a mark he left there the night before.

“ _Jesus_ , Gaudio, you’ve got some moves in 'ya,” Frankie says breathlessly and looks up to him.

Bob shrugs, “Yeah, gotta make up for my attitude this morning,” he explains.

“You know, you don’t need to. I apologized. You have no reason,” Frankie tells him as they’re back to simply swaying again. “Plus, I love it when you show that you care, baby.”

Bob stares at him for a few seconds before he dives in. They kiss, messily but hot, slowly coming to a stop until all they do is moving their mouths against each other and holding on to the other, the breakfast and the dancing and Frankie leaving early all but forgotten.

 _Yes_ , Bob thinks as his hand squeezes Frankie’s waist. Nights are great, but this is _unbeatable_.

“I love you too,” he answers once they break apart, not going in for another kiss, instead just looking at him once more.

Frankie lights up like a lightbulb and Bob knows it’s worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe there will be more to this verse, who knows. i hope it's not too ooc at the end. idk.
> 
> thank you for reading this, as always. leave a comment if you want, or chat with me on tumblr (andreinbolkonsky) or twitter (xbigboysdontcry) where I bitch about not wanting a relationship while only writing grossly romantic couples in my free-time.
> 
> friendly reminder: you are loved, you are enough and you will achieve great things. you are right just the way you are, a living and breathing thing. keep going.


End file.
